


Interlude

by LittleSammy



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:44:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSammy/pseuds/LittleSammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meet Sammy's head canon for the summer that Gibbs was away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Starts a little after "Hiatus, Pt 2" and ends a little after "Shalom". I've had this in my head for long, long months now, but much to my surprise, it forced its way out today, quite unexpectedly.

The first time he gets to sleep in her bed is a couple of days after Gibbs runs off and leaves him the team. 

It kills him to admit later that he doesn't remember much of it because he was stone drunk at the time and Ziva probably just took pity on him and his creative ways of self-loathing. All that stays of that night is how she smells, really -- spicy, like sandalwood. And that she doesn't hog the covers as much as he remembers.

*** *** ***

In the morning, after he's out of the shower and gulping down too-strong coffee, she tells him that nothing happened, and he's not quite sure what the expression on her face means. He's also not quite sure if he's supposed to be relieved or disappointed now.

From the looks of it, she feels the same.

*** *** ***

They do have sex, eventually. Maybe it's inevitable. Maybe they both keep wondering how that night _could_ have gone. Maybe, though, it's just the fact that he keeps showing up at her doorstep, and that always seems to end with them getting drunk and bonding over the fact that they both miss their father figure and need to share the loss.

He's not sure. He never will be, really. But yeah, the sex is good. Pretty damn awesome, to be exact.

*** *** ***

He never stays over, and she never asks him to, and that keeps the pretense of casualness going for both of them. He likes to stay late, though, sometimes until the sun comes back up. Sometimes they do this in the middle of the work week, too, when they're both lonely and need to take off the edge or just need some physical contact. She deals with these long nights better than him, and he always looks as if he's been run over by a truck the next morning. He still keeps coming back for more (and more), because he likes how she looks at him once she takes off her clothes, and because he _really_ likes how much she loves to sleep with him. And because, honestly, it's the best sex he's ever had. There's no sugarcoating this.

*** *** ***

Every once in a while, he catches her unawares and getting soft with him. When she reaches over to brush a strand of hair out of his face, maybe, or run her fingertips through his chest hair even while they're just lounging on his couch and watching a movie. He's pretty sure she doesn't even realize it, and he's not stupid enough to mention it. He knows her too well for that. She'd stop. And oddly enough, he finds that he'd like to keep doing this for a while longer.

Just for a little while, really. Just to see where it's going.

*** *** ***

One night, towards the end he doesn't know yet is coming, he's so tired that he can't bring himself to get dressed and drive home, so he curls into her sheets and mumbles something incoherent when she asks him if he doesn't have a flight to catch early in the morning. He agrees sleepily and tells her when he has to get up to be there in time. His overnight bag is already in his car. And he doesn't want to sleep alone tonight. He'll have to do that for the whole damn conference.

It's a gamble, he knows that. They don't do sleepovers for a reason. They do nice, clean fun and comfort instead, and they both do their best to avoid actual attachment at all cost. They're both only partly successful, though, so in the end he wins, she sighs, sets the alarm, and climbs into bed with him.

*** *** ***

He kinda likes sitting in that plane, still smelling like sandalwood. He could get used to it, maybe.

*** *** ***

"Well, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Gibbs," she says, and that's when it hits Tony for the first time that she didn't call _him_. She was in the deepest shit ever, and she should have known that he'd do everything in his power to help her. Because he isn't just her boss anymore these days. He's also the guy she's been spending a couple of nights every week with, for the past three months or so.

He _should_ be a part of her life by now. At least a big enough part for her to trust him.

Except that she doesn't. And she didn't think he'd do a good enough job at saving her.

*** *** ***

He feels queasy, but he still drives her home that night, and she's exhilarated and still high from the adrenalin. She's also the cutest thing ever, even with the broken nose and the bruises, and she gives him that certain kind of look. The kind of look she usually gives him when she needs to blow off steam badly.

He knows that if he goes along for the ride, it'll probably turn into one of the best nights of his life. She'll fuck him like there's no tomorrow, and then, later, she'd ruffle his hair in that weirdly affectionate way she sometimes has with him when she forgets to keep herself in check. And maybe, if he were to play his cards right, she'd even let him stay over, despite the fact that--

"You don't trust me," he says when she comes back from the kitchen with a bottle of iced tequila and two shot glasses, and she stops dead in her tracks and stares at him.

"Of course I do," she replies cautiously, but he can tell that's a lie because she's using that weird trick of hers where she doesn't really meet his eyes. She just pretends to while she stares hard at the spot between his eyebrows.

"No, you don't." He straightens his back, and his chin goes up stubbornly while she squirms underneath his gaze. "You trust yourself, and you trust Gibbs. But not me. Never me."

Part of him feels weird, saying this out loud, but he can't help it. Now that the elephant in the middle of the room suddenly started tap-dancing, even he can't ignore it any longer. 

"You thought I'd be a failure." 

And there it is, he thinks. The true reason he has to spell this out. The job-related reason. The one that's even more important than something simple, like staying in her bed.

He needs to keep them together, as a team. Because the one who did it before him ran away and left him to pick up the pieces. And no, he has no idea how to do that, really. But he's doing his damn best here. And they don't let him. They don't think he can manage. _Ziva_ doesn't think he can manage.

"I don't think you're a failure, Tony," she starts out hesitantly, but he gives her a dry chuckle. Shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair.

"Yeah, right," he says, and there's a weird bitterness in his voice. "That's why you called Jethro in Mexico and not me, right here."

"I was trying to _protect_ you!" she forces out angrily, and he knows that tone in her voice. She sounds like she's trying not to yell at an unreasonable child. "You could have lost your job over this, and Gibbs--"

But even Ziva seems to realize it this time -- that his gut isn't too far off -- and so she falls silent and mirrors his nervous gesture, tearing at her own hair in frustration.

He sighs, eventually, and he's surprised at the tired note in his voice. 

"Look." The disappointment leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and he can't look at her. He can only stare at the floor instead, because he really doesn't want to do this. And he doesn't want to see her reaction, if there is one. "This isn't going anywhere."

She's quiet for such a long time that he raises his eyes eventually, to check if she got what he tried to say there, and yeah, she did. She's smart, after all. Her face is a little paler than it was a minute ago, and her grip on the tequila bottle is lax, as if it's gonna slip through her fingers any second now. She's shocked, kind of. He is, too, when she finally opens her mouth.

"I didn't realize you'd want it to."

He laughs, and it's just a short bark of laughter that carries no amusement at all, only more bitterness. 

"Yeah. Me neither."

*** *** ***

It's hard to turn away that night. Probably because he knows he won't come back anytime soon. Or maybe because some foolish part of him still waits for her to stir and stop him. To tell him she didn't mean it like that, or tell him other things she doesn't mean, just because she knows he needs to hear them.

She doesn't, though. She just stares at him, speechless, and watches him retreat. 

He's not sure what to make of her expression. She's confused, he can tell that easily, and she doesn't really want him to go. But he has no idea if she'll actually miss him or just the regular sex, and that's the thing that kills him.

*** *** ***

He drinks too much for about a week, but he covers it up so well that even Gibbs doesn't notice, and that's something to be proud of, in a perverted way.

He misses Ziva -- the private Ziva, the one he doesn't get to see anymore. But he's not entirely sure if it's the sex or the illusion of someone caring for him that he misses more.

*** *** ***

It takes him another week until he can talk to Jenny about it. Tells her he needs something to sink his teeth into and take his mind off things and teams that don't want him. He doesn't admit that he needs to prove himself too much right now, because even he doesn't trust his own abilities anymore. Jen can tell, though. He's pretty sure about that.

*** *** ***

Two days later she hands him a file and says, if he wants the job, it's his. Should be right up his alley, because he gets to charm a pretty girl.

He gives her a crooked grin and says, yeah. That'll help.

It won't, of course. But thankfully, he doesn't know that yet.

*** *** ***


End file.
